At the End of the Rainbow
by Crimson1
Summary: As Captain Cold is being taken into custody after a foiled heist, Rainbow Raider manages to put the whammy on Flash. He whisks Cold away to a secluded warehouse intent on taking his rage out on him, when his anger leads to confessions of other things he'd like to do to Cold, and Cold decides to encourage that to save his skin. Better than getting his face smashed in. Much better.


A/N: We interrupt this regularly scheduled update of my chapter fic, Out Cold, with sex. I blame (I mean love) coldflashtrash on Tumblr for encouraging me when I sent this to her as an ask.

Consent is a bit dubious, FYI. I mean, it is consensual, and yet, you know, obviously something that wouldn't have happened without Bivolo putting the whammy on Barry, and arguable whether Len could stop Barry if he tried (not that he does), so...just bear that in mind.

Enjoy!

* * *

 **At the End of the Rainbow**

* * *

Len wasn't upset. He couldn't really be upset when Flash had given him such a good chase, such a fun dance for the evening. Sure, he'd lost, been caught, and currently had Detective Joe West slapping cuffs on him, but he'd be out on the streets soon enough, ready to give Scarlet another good show.

He scowled like he was supposed to, made the grand gesture, a good threat here and there as Flash helped clean up the mess and explain things to the other officers before getting ready to dash away. But some rookie had a hold of Bivolo, and when he tried to duck the Rainbow Raider into a squad car, the protective goggles they'd slapped on him to keep his powers from working got knocked right off onto the street.

The only reason Len had agreed to work with the meta was because his own goggles protected him from Bivolo's power—now removed and in custody with his cold gun—but he didn't care for the man at all. Bivolo knew how to take advantage of an opportunity though.

The next thing Len knew, the rookie was aiming his gun at Detective West, who like the white knight he was, herded Len back first then ducked them behind his squad car, all the while refraining from firing back—not when it was an innocent, which Len wasn't so sure he agreed on concerning cops, but he'd been starting to see things more Flash's way. Len was too good to let innocents, cops or otherwise, get caught in the crossfire.

Flash did everything he could to intervene quickly, which was in record time, naturally. They had a special flashlight young Cisco had created to more quickly counteract Bivolo's powers, which Flash used on the rookie in moments.

But then it happened. No one else had a clear vantage point, but Len saw it as he peeked over West's shoulder. Just as Flash was placing the goggles back over Bivolo's eyes, his own eyes sparked with a tinge of red.

Flash headed toward West, who came out from behind his car with Len in tow, but Flash was rubbing his eyes and shaking his head. Bivolo's powers took longer to affect Flash, not instantaneous like with others, but it happened quicker each time if someone encountered Bivolo more than once. Flash was already losing it, Len could tell.

The rookie sped away with Bivolo, who was probably laughing his ass off about now, knowing he'd managed to whammy Flash with no one else noticing.

"West…" Len tried.

"Can it, Cold. Barry, you okay?" West asked quietly so none of the other officers would overhear.

Flash rubbed a hand down his face but looked up at West with a dismissive nod. "It's nothing, Joe, I just…" Then his eyes trained on Len—and narrowed.

"Detective—" Len tried again, but by the time the air returned to his lungs to finish his cry for help, he was already far from the crime scene.

Len sucked in air, fighting his disorientation. He was in a warehouse he didn't recognize. He could be halfway across the city.

He blinked and there was Flash standing in front of him about to take a swing at his head. Len ducked just in time and Flash's fist decimated part of the concrete pillar beside him. If Flash had used more of his speed with that hit, Len would be missing his jaw.

"Flash!" he called, trying to keep on his feet as he backpedaled. His hands were cuffed in front of him at least but they were still cuffed. "Bivolo's affecting you! You have to—"

"I don't take orders from you!" Flash snarled. He zipped in front of Len so fast that when he slammed his hands forward it sent Len flying backwards.

The wind was knocked from him as he landed, but he immediately started to scoot back along the ground to keep Flash away. Len was no fool. He fully recognized how dangerous Flash would be if he wasn't a hero, how much damage he could cause, how easily he could kill someone.

"Flash, listen! This isn't you! You don't want to do this!"

Flash's eyes burned with fury, stalking after Len with frightening determination. Len wasn't fast enough; he could never be fast enough. Flash hefted him from the ground by the front of his parka and slammed him back into a wall. Len gasped, the air pushed from his lungs completely this time.

"What do you know about what I want?" Flash sneered. "You betrayed me! You gave me your word and turned your back anyway! Then you pull another heist, commit another crime, and expect me to go easy on you?!"

Len's vision was swimming. He had no time to think his way out of this, no backup, no chance to fight a Flash who didn't have any limits. "Flash..." He sounded pitiful; he hated sounding pitiful.

The way Flash had him lifted hitched his sweater up his stomach, his jacket left open, his cold gun far away. Then he spotted it: the flashlight to counteract Bivolo's power. Flash had been holding it. He'd brought it along and then tossed it aside, but it was there, only feet from them. If Len could just get to it...

Flash leaned his weight into Len, reminding him that he wasn't going anywhere. His gloved, right hand slid down to the bare skin of Len's stomach. "You make me so fucking angry, Snart, every time I see you. That smug expression, the way you strut around like you're so damn big and important, and all I can think is…how you wouldn't look so smug on your knees…"

That got Len's attention. His eyes flew to Flash's face.

"Sometimes I think about burying myself so deep inside of you, I wipe that smug look right off your face." Flash's voice had gone husky, his hand settling low at Len's waist, but the fire remained in his eyes, the threat.

His gaze went distant, his breathing harsh, like he was picturing that fantasy vividly—Len sure as hell was—but when Flash's eyes looked up, he was fuming again.

He pulled his fist back...

"Then put me there!" Len cried, fighting to keep his voice from sounding too panicked. "On my knees..." he added, gauging Flash's face for a sense of relenting, of interest, anything to prevent him from beating Len to a pulp.

Never in a million years would Len have guessed that Flash had such thoughts about him. If it had been any other moment, he would have smirked, but he was pretty sure that would be a bad idea right now.

Flash's fist lowered, his other arm loosening enough that Len slid down the wall until his feet finally touched the ground. Flash's eyes were wild, but there was heat there too, and want, and damn, Len had no idea Bivolo's power could do this. Even if Flash would have never acted on it without this push, those thoughts were in him, just as his anger was in him.

"Put me there," Len said again, grasping at this moment's reprieve. "This is your city. I'm just lucky you let me run around free most of the time. Show me who's in charge, Flash. Let me prove I understand who's boss. I deserve it."

"Yes…" Flash hissed, getting in Len's face, one hand gripping his parka tightly, "…you do."

"Just show me how to unzip that fine suit of yours and—"

The room spun, there was a sharp pain through Len's knees, and he found himself on the ground, their positions swapped with Flash leaned back against the wall and Len right where he'd told Flash to put him. Flash found the zipper of his suit up by his collarbone, slowing pulling it down, his mask still on, attached differently at the neck. He wasn't wearing anything underneath. As he got to his waist, he pulled the chevron belt buckle aside and kept unzipping.

He wasn't wearing _anything_ underneath, Len realized, as he pulled himself free, already hard, his face alive with furious passion.

If this was the alternative to getting pummeled, Len would have to thank Bivolo later. He licked his lips at the sight of Flash bare and pulsing hot. He scooted closer. He couldn't do much with his cuffed hands other than help guide Flash in, but it was enough, and Flash's skin was so hot and smelled like leather.

Len batted his eyes up at Flash above him, catching the kid's intense stare, as he took him into his mouth. Flash pounded a gloved fist back into the concrete wall, leaving behind a powdery dent. Better the wall than Len's face.

Len couldn't remember the last time he'd done this for someone. Relationships weren't something he excelled at, and while he prided himself in excelling at sex, that didn't mean he got around to it often. He'd never deny that he enjoyed this though, the feel of another's length, the salty taste, the way he could make someone come undone so easily, especially when it was Flash biting back moans above him.

He held Flash's balls in his cuffed hands as he worked him, that heady smell of leather from the suit intoxicating. The danger of it, the thought that at any moment Flash might come to his senses, or maybe decide to attack again, heightened the adrenaline rush that had Len quickly getting as hard as his opponent.

The visuals were bar none—looking up Flash's body from this angle, his suit open from his neck to his groin, showing off those young, taut abs, the smooth hairless chest. Len couldn't resist watching the way Flash's lips parted as he panted, his eyes heavy and dazed, even when he reached forward and tried to roughly grab Len's hair. It was too short, and so he satisfied himself with a hand at the back of Len's head.

As the minutes passed—Len wondered how long Flash could last—he felt the speed of Flash's subtle pumps forward increase, more and more, until it was so fast, too fast, that he struck the back of Len's throat on one impressive arch and caused him to gag and cough away.

Flash's hands were on him moments later, striking him in the chest to send him sprawling back across the floor. Len knew without looking that this meant he was nearly within reaching distance of the flashlight, but he didn't dare risk going for it, even looking at it, in case Flash recognized it as a threat, or became even more enraged at Len for reaching for something he could use as a weapon.

Len laid there and waited, breath held as Flash descended, yanking his mask back from his face finally. He straddled Len's prone legs, unabashed of his nakedness, and jerked Len up by the edges of his parka into a harsh kiss—all tongues and teeth and possession. Len reciprocated as much as he dared, but he knew better than to try and take over, take control. This was Flash's game, and the only chance Len had at surviving this unscathed.

Well, he didn't mind getting a little scathed.

Flash shifted down enough to swiftly undo Len's pants. He yanked them down Len's legs, boxer briefs and all, with a fierce hunger in his expression that made Len shudder. Flash looked up scornfully then at the remaining sweater and parka.

"You could always remove the cuffs," Len said unthinkingly.

Flash grabbed him by the front of his sweater—

"Or not!"

—and tore it straight down the center from the top to the bottom. Neither the sweater nor coat could be removed down his arms, but this seemed to satisfy something in Flash. He reached down between them. Their position meant that Flash's cock had already been dragging across Len's thighs, but now he took them both in hand. He stopped and tore his gloves off in a rage. He grabbed their dicks again, holding them tight together in his large hand, and began to pump his hips, his fingers flying in tandem.

Then his hand picked up speed—speed only The Flash was capable of.

A moan tore out of Len's throat. He had never felt anything like this before. He lay back on the cold floor of the empty warehouse, Flash pinning him, riding him in the most delicious way, while he remained cuffed and equally trapped within the remains of his battered clothes. It seemed to drag on for minutes more, and Len wasn't sure how long he could last, or whether or not coming before Flash told him to would earn him further punishment. When he was certain he was about to come, Flash stopped.

"Roll over."

An equal thrill of panic and enthusiasm coursed through Len as he complied, flipping onto his front. Flash grabbed his hips, pushing his face toward the floor. Len was able to keep his cheek from making content with the ground by propping his cuffed hands up. It wasn't comfortable, but it would do—better than eating concrete.

He braced himself for Flash to be rough, rough enough to sting, to hurt him, but he felt a wet, probing finger instead and sighed into the feeling of being stretched by his nemesis. It was firm but never painful; urgent but careful enough to pull further moans from Len. Flash wanted him wrecked in the best way; Len had never had such marvelous revenge taken out on him before.

Flash was less gentle when he positioned to sheath himself, but Len was so well-stretched by then, even on just spit and pre-cum, that he welcomed the smooth, swift stroke home. It may have been ages since he'd last had a lover, but he knew how to work himself when needs arose. It amused him to no end that his current favorite dildo was red.

He let his moan echo around them as Flash buried himself to the hilt. The first back swing was glorious—Len literally saw stars and fought to keep his hands poised so that the cuffs didn't bite into his skin. By the fifth stroke he no longer cared. His moans were consistent, and the hands Flash kept on his hips was all the encouragement he needed.

The problem was that in his position he couldn't touch himself, and Flash certainly wasn't offering to. Len was going crazy with the over-sensation behind him and the lack thereof between his legs.

When he finally couldn't take anymore, he huffed, "Please..."

"Please...what?" Flash growled at him.

Len knew he might regret asking but he had to. "Just touch me, _fuck_..."

For a moment there was frightening silence in reply. When Flash finally moved to grip him, it was so sudden, so complete with his entire hand working Len roughly, he cried out.

"That's right...you love it."

"Ngnnn..." Len moaned incoherently. He turned his head in the direction of the flashlight. It was within reach. He could grab it now that Flash was distracted and save himself.

Len nearly laughed aloud. Like hell was he stopping this now.

"This city is mine," Flash rumbled. "Mine, not yours. And so are you."

" _Fuck_ , Flash..."

"Say my name."

" _Flash_ ," Len practically keened. Flash's hand and hips were moving so fast, they were vibrating. Len couldn't see straight.

"My _name_ ," Flash ordered, and Len didn't understand at first. He'd said his name, hadn't he? Then he realized.

" _Barry_ ," he whimpered, and came so hard he felt tears in his eyes.

He went limp save Flash holding his hips up as he pounded him. The ricochets of pleasure were good, so good, too good. But it quickly started to become too much. He needed to stop, he needed Flash to stop, and just when he was finally ready to beg for mercy, Flash came.

 _So worth it_ , Len thought as Flash collapsed on his back, but now he had to focus. He leaned his weight to the left closer to the flashlight, just subtle enough so that when Flash was ready to pull out and roll away, he went right. Len sagged into the floor and rolled onto his back to the left. He plucked the flashlight from the floor next to him.

"Now, Cold…" Flash started to say with threat in his words again despite his breathless pants.

"You know what, Flash?" Len said, and when Flash looked at him, he shined the flashlight right in his eyes.

Flash grimaced, snarled, then blinked and his face went blank. Len let the flashlight tumble back to the floor. He was exhausted.

"Oh my god," Flash choked out as his mind cleared.

"Seconded," Len gasped, a wide smile spreading across his face as he closed his eyes and laid back amidst the sore but still pleasant, buzzing afterglow. "No joke, Scarlet, I think that was the best—"

"Oh my god!" Flash said again, cutting him off with shrill emotion in his voice. "Are you okay? What did I do?"

He was right there, and he sounded so concerned; Len had to open his eyes. When he did, the sight of Flash sweaty and tousled, his mask pulled back and suit still unzipped all the way down to let his now wilted cock hang out, made Len smirk.

Flash promptly blushed and zipped himself up despite the telling stains left on the outside of the suit. Pity. It had been such a nice view.

Len wasn't in a much better state, shirt torn apart and pants at his ankles, not that he could do anything about either of those things right now.

Flash stood suddenly, and as Len's eyes darted to him, he got the awful sense that the speedster was about to bolt.

"Oh no you don't! Don't you dare. If you leave me here like this I swear I will hunt you down later and freeze you right where it counts."

Flash actually pouted at him. "I wasn't going to leave you."

"Well you sure as hell looked it."

Flash scowled, but despite the anxiety rippling through his shoulders, he reached down to slowly, carefully hoist Len up to his feet by grasping his cuffed wrists. Len hissed on the way up, partially from the cuffs grating against his skin, but mostly from other sore places on his body.

Flash looked so mortified as he registered that.

"Cool it, Scarlet, I'm fine," Len said, watching Flash closely as the kid brought his pants up for him so he could tuck himself away, though he needed Flash's help buttoning up. Flash's flushed skin and doe-eyed gape was adorable.

Len could do without the look of nausea though.

He tried not to sneer as the blatant revulsion from Flash became clear. "Right. I'm sure it's rather traumatizing having sullied yourself with the likes of me," he said plainly. He should have expected this. His young hero in red couldn't possibly admit to having a hard-on for someone like him, and would go right back to seeing Len as something lower after this, something lesser. No matter; Len was used to it.

But Flash glared at him. "You think that's the reason I—" He cut off abruptly with a snarl that reminded Len a little too closely of enraged-Barry, and fought back a flinch when the kid grabbed him by the arms. "Come here."

There went Len's breath again, the world tilting and blurring. It took longer to reach their destination this time, which meant that they probably hadn't been far from the crime scene after all when Flash sped them to the warehouse, but now they were headed somewhere farther away. When Len blinked at steady surroundings again, it looked like they were in someone's living room.

"I can't believe you think the only reason I'm upset is because it was with you," Flash went right on as if there had been no pause in the conversation. "Even when I…after I…forced you to…" He trailed, grimacing, but not at Len—at himself, staring down at his hands, that somehow held his gloves in one and the flashlight in the other, but had still been able to hold Len while he ran here.

Len felt a pang of guilt for how quickly he had pegged Flash wrong. Of course the kid would focus on that part of what had happened, damn bleeding heart.

"Flash, Bivolo—"

"And why on earth did you encourage it!" Flash turned on him, gripping the items in his hands tightly as he stepped into Len's airspace.

Len wasn't sure if he should be annoyed, angry, or turned on again; this kid was so confusing. He settled on stern as he said, "Maybe because it seemed like the better alternative to ending up _dead_."

Instantly, Flash looked nauseous again. He didn't have a comeback for that. And damn if it didn't deflate Len right along with it.

"Flash…" Len said, searching for something to wipe that look of horror from his counterpart's face, "you didn't do anything I didn't want. I don't beg for it like that, even for show, unless it's earned. Besides, you can't tell me you didn't enjoy most of what happened back there." He brought his lips up into a sly grin, eyebrow cocked suggestively.

Flash sputtered. "God, you...you are such an ass."

"Says the man who decided to bring me home for dinner," Len said with a glance around the room.

"I brought you here so you could get cleaned up," Flash snapped, pointing the flashlight in Len's face, since it was handy for pointing, then seemed to remember his hands were full and set everything down on a nearby table.

His eyes landed on the cuffs next, which even Len had started to get used to. In an instant, Flash was gone, then back again with a key.

"The bathroom's through there," Flash said once the cuffs were off. "Use the shower if you want, and I'll get you some clean clothes." He wouldn't look Len in the eyes.

"Flash…"

"What?" he bit out. He still wouldn't look up.

Len rubbed his sore wrists. He was sticky and tired, and his chest was still bare, but it did nothing to quell his confidence. He gripped Flash by the chin, forcing the kid to meet his gaze, surprised but not at all disappointed when Flash glowered but didn't shake him off.

"So Bivolo infected you, filled you with rage, and for some reason that got you to admit a few things you might not have otherwise. But you know what's amazing? You didn't hurt me."

That got Flash to pull away. "Yeah, because you decided that sucking me off was the smarter option."

Len followed him. "You don't get it. There's no reason you shouldn't have been just as brutal with how things developed, but you were…let's say wonderfully rough, sure, but you never hurt me. I'd happily go another round playing things out exactly as they happened in that warehouse…all over again."

Flash's mouth hung open in surprise. "I…you..." Then he shook head. "It's not funny, Snart. You don't have to appease me."

"Since when do I _appease_ anyone?"

"But...that was the first time I've ever done anything like that."

"Obviously," Len snorted. He doubted Bivolo normally played a part in Flash's sex life.

"Well yeah, but I mean…ever," Flash emphasized with raised eyebrows to get his point across.

Now it was Len's turn to gape. "You mean, you were…" He couldn't say it.

Flash waved his hands. "Not ever, ever, I just mean…using my speed like that. You're the first person I've successfully been with since the accident. You were also," he looked self-conscious now, "my first time with a guy, okay? Guys are harder for me for some reason. The one time I actually got up the nerve to ask another guy out, he laughed in my face." Flash scowled at the memory.

"That's impossible," Len said, though he wasn't really thinking of some asshole laughing at Barry—much as that irked him, and really, he was going to have to find out who that man was so he could pay him a visit—so much as the fact that the kid had never been with a man before. "That was your first time? You were amazing."

Flash laughed, then rubbed his neck when he realized Len wasn't mocking him. "You're serious? Wow. Points for porn and operating under the influence, I guess." Then he grimaced as he was reminded that he'd been whammyed to accomplish this feat.

"Look, I don't appreciate Bivolo's involvement anymore than you do," Len said, making sure he held Flash's gaze as he continued, "but I am not sorry for how much we both enjoyed that. And unless you're going to try and tell me that Bivolo's rage had you lying back there, you made it sound like that was something you'd been thinking about for a while."

Flash flushed again; he was so easy.

"Admit it," Len said with a renewed smirk, "you think I'm hot as hell."

"I thought you preferred being Cold," Flash snarked.

Brat. But there was a smile fighting for dominance on Flash's face. Len eyed him pointedly.

"Okay, so…" Flash caved, averting his gaze again, "maybe I've had a few fantasies where…instead of taking you to the police after stopping a heist, I…"

"Have your wicked way with me instead?" Len finished.

Flash looked so endearingly embarrassed, and red in the face, and fidgety, but no longer nauseous or remorseful. It was a start. "Just…go get cleaned up," he said at long last. "I have to call Joe, tell him what happened. Without the sex part!" he added when Len raised an eyebrow at him. "And then…well..."

Len had started to turn toward the bathroom, but when Flash trailed off, he whipped back around as what the kid wasn't saying dawned on him. "I am not going back into custody."

"Cold…"

"You owe me, Flash."

Flash huffed and crossed his arms. "And here I thought you were saying I'd given you exactly what you wanted."

"Even so," Len countered. He wasn't about to be beaten out by sarcasm. So he'd enjoyed himself; Flash still owed him.

"Fine," Flash breathed out loudly with a swing of his arms down to his sides, "I'll tell Joe you used the flashlight on me and then took off, and I didn't see which way you went, all right?"

"Thank you," Len acknowledged as grandly as possible, before turning for the bathroom again.

When he got there and flipped on the light, he turned back to find Flash still standing where he had left him, looking dazed, like he was thinking back on what had occurred between them and couldn't help running a hand down the front of his suit in remembrance.

Len grinned when Flash looked up and realized he'd been caught. He quickly dropped his hand and flushed as red as ever.

"And Barry?"

"What?"

Len motioned for Flash to come closer.

Flash gave him a look like 'seriously?' but Len had no intention of backing down. He motioned again. Eventually, Flash complied.

Once he was close, and only after he had gotten within touching distance, did Len lean in, right up against Flash's ear, and purposely place a hand near the stains along Flash's thigh as he whispered, "If the next time you thwart one of my heists and catch me, you feel like playing out another fantasy…I'm all yours." He pulled back and licked his lips invitingly.

Flash shuddered.

Len considered asking if Flash wanted to join him in the shower, but he didn't want to push his luck. He could wear the kid down slowly. It'd be more fun that way. One thing was certain though, he thought, as he closed the bathroom door.

He definitely owed Bivolo a fruit basket.

* * *

THE END


End file.
